


Kanboy da Snake-Killa!

by Yaboybutternubs



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Humor, its crack but by the standards of warhammer so its still fairly serious, seriously bare with me on this premise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yaboybutternubs/pseuds/Yaboybutternubs
Summary: For countless eons, Rylanor, the ancient of rites, has been in waiting on the barren world of Istvaan III for his primarch to finally come to him in the hopes of killing him.What came for him instead was the largest Waaagh! in the 41st millennium.
Relationships: Ancient Rylanor & Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka
Comments: 36
Kudos: 68





	1. A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first warhammer fanfic and im excited to finally get to writing about my favorite sci-fi franchise :D lmk what you guys think in the comments!

The signal goes off again.

“ _The ancient awaits_.”

The lure Rylanor laid for his traitorous gene-father once more echoed its way into the stars.

With the chronometer in Rylanor’s Contemptor Chassis broken, he could no longer tell how long he had been waiting here. His mechanical body ached with untold years of stagnation and internalized grief and hatred. The dreadnaught used to be able to pass the time by watching the specks of dust in his vision dance along his chassis, but eventually the collapsed hanger he resided in had become so still and devoid of life that even this comfort was denied.

The signal goes off again.

“ _The ancient awaits_.”

A phrase that had been repeated thousands of times now. However, his annoyance at the repetition of the signal was of no concern. Rylanor would gladly allow the phrase to grate his audio receptors another million times if it meant being able to slay Fulgrim, that thousand-times damned traitor.

Something stirs in the air as another living being finally enters the dead hangar that has become Rylanor’s new home.

His ancient, decaying heart stirs inside its rotting chassis. Vengeance would finally be his, after untold years of waiting. His broken biological form nearly manages to shudder at the thought of seeing Fulgrim undone by his own hand. Against his own wishes, the dreadnaught wills himself to be still. That damned traitor would only need to be in his grasp for but a moment to detonate the virus bomb.

The footsteps come closer to him, and Rylenor brings his fist online, ready to ensnare the bastard as soon as he walks in range.

Fulgrim’s steps were mere feet away.

Rylanor would have loved to see the pompous look of contemptuous satisfaction that his gene-father was no doubt sporting at the moment, but the mountainous pile of rubble surrounding his form made it impossible to gaze in the direction of his fist.

One more step.

Like a hunting snare, his gargantuan fist snaps shut, encasing the treasonous scoundrel within.

**+++ AT LAST, YOU HAVE COME TO ME.+++**

The pathetic thing in his grip lets out some sort of whimper of fear at his words. If one of the sons of the Emperor had fallen so far as to feel fear, this would be more of a mercy killing than anything else.

His joints creak with millennia of disrepair as he brings the clenched fist in front of his viewport.

**+++ TO THINK I ONCE LOOKED UPON YOU AS MY FATHER- +++**

His heart sinks as the thing in his grasp is finally brought into his view. The odds of this being his primarch were next to zero.

Primarchs, after all, did not have green skin (though there was a red one for some reason).

“Gork’s gunz, dis killa kan’s talkin’!”

The greenskin shouted all other manner of nonsensical obscenities as it thrashed around fruitlessly in an attempt to escape him. For a moment, Rylanor simply stared at the dumb animal with a level of dumbfoundedness that made him little better than the ork in his fist.

He unclenched his artificial fist and the ork fell out of his sight.

He hears the damn thing scamper away and lets out a grated, mechanical noise akin to a sigh. Disappointment was not an emotion that Rylanor had felt since he had allowed himself to be injured severely enough to be put in this glorified coffin to begin with, but it was the only thing he could feel at the moment.

With the detestable creatures no doubt scouring this long forgotten world of ash in hopes of finding shiny trinkets, he would never claim the vengeance that he had now dedicated his whole existence to.

The rubble at his feet stirs as Rylanor vaguely registers the noise of the greenskin’s crude power tools being put to work.

They were unearthing him. How polite of them to make it easier for him to end their blighted existences.

A large piece of rubble finally dislodged itself from behind him, and his limp body fell into a sitting position against the wall of the hanger. Rylanor took a moment to notice that one of his legs had been crushed to scrap metal but was unable to ruminate on this before the damned xenos polluted the air with their voices.

“See!? Lookit!” The first one shouted in glee as he pointed at the ancient of rites. “I toldya that signal was gonna lead us to shiny bitz! We got us new killa kan!”

The other greenskin looked on at Rylanor’s broken form with the fear that it deserved to inspire. “You’z gotta be drinkin fungus brew like a squiggoth to think that’s a boy in dere! That’s one them ‘umie thingiez!”

“Da Gork is you talkin about?” The first one asked as he scratched his head.

“Y’know, one o’ them big space marine boyz. Its called a… izza… a-“ The second one stomped his boots on the ground in frustration. “Wuzzit called again?”

**+++DREADNOUGHT.+++**

They both froze in place at Rylanor’s interjection. It comforted him to know that the speakers on this body still worked, if nothing else.

**+++THE WORD YOU ARE LOOKING FOR IS DREADNOUGHT.+++**

The second one spoke up after another moment of silence passed over the three of them.

“Thatz the word! Thanks for-“

Rylanor’s assault cannon turned the ork into a fine mist before he even had a chance to react. The other ork scrambled towards the corner to escape his wrath, but a burst from his flamer turned the creature to a pile of screaming flesh before turning to ash.

Vengeance would be his, and if he had to destroy an entire Waaagh! to claim it, then so be it.

He attempted to hoist himself up using the servo joints built into his arms, but this only achieved a brief thrusting motion before causing him to fall back onto his rear. He attempted to prop himself up with his power fist, but this only produced a similar result, except now he was slightly slumped over.

Unfortunately, no amount of bloodlust or bravado could truly take the place of his missing leg. He would simply have to wait for the greenskins to come to him.

As Rylanor heard the thunderous footsteps of them trampling down the corridors to his location, he thanked what little fortune he had left for how straightforward his enemies could be guaranteed to be. A gargantuan greenskin rounded the corner, and Rylanor let out a burst from his assault cannon, blowing a chunk from the creature’s side. The ork clutched that side in pain for a brief moment but soon returned to the process of moving towards the dreadnought. Another burst directed at the head, and the bastard finally fell over lifeless.

This victory meant nothing once its innumerable comrades came running in to investigate.

A few more bursts from his cannon and flamer helped thin their ranks, but when he finally ran out of ammo, immeasurable disappointment and impotent rage flowed through him as he realized his fate was not to claim the head of Fulgrim, but to be looted and picked apart by the greenskin hordes.

Strangely enough, however, the ones with the power tools did not pull him apart plate by plate, despite how eager they looked to do so. Not only that, but the larger ones, presumably bred for combat, did not rip him asunder with their many firearms and melee weapons. Every single one of the xenos in the room simply stared at him as they exchanged nervous glances.

This complete inaction at the hands of the enemy only served to further enrage the dreadnought, who had spent the time bracing himself for an undignified death that seemed to have decided to leave him at the last minute.

**+++ WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?+++**

Rylanor just wanted something, anything to happen.

“Did dat kan just talk?” One of the larger ones with a pair of buzz-saws in place of a right hand asked with uncertainty in its voice.

“Zog me, da kan’s actually alive!” Another one remarked.

**+++ ACKNOWLEDGE ME, XENOS SCUM.+++**

The fearful stares they shared with one another intensified along with the rage in Rylanor’s voice. Just when the dreadnought was reaching the level of anger needed for another fitful shout, a greenskin with crude, comically large syringes strapped to his waist stepped out from the crowd and addressed him.

“Uh, sorry kan-boy. We’z not supposed to touch ya till da boss comes.” It told him with a complete lack of the fear that seemed to be permeating through all of his kin at the moment.

**+++ I WAS NOT AWARE PERFIDIOUS SCUM SUCH AS YOUR KIND CARED ENOUGH ABOUT DECENCY TO FOLLOW ORDERS.+++**

“Perfy-wut?” The one with the syringes asked as it scratched its head. “You ‘umies is might proud of ya big words, you know dat?”

**+++ BARBARIAN.+++**

“And he just keeps on yappin’!” It remarked with a sigh. “Wut’z Ghazghkull want with dis git anyway…”

**+++ GHAZGHKULL?+++**

Rylanor never bothered to learn the names of the many orks he had slain during the great crusade, and it just now occurred to him how grating they were on the audio receptors.

**+++ IS THAT THE NAME OF YOUR MASTER?+++**

“And it’s gonna the name of your boss too, ya bucket o’ bolts!” Came a booming voice from behind the other orks that caused them all to stand up straight in fear.

The beast’s every step caused the earth around Rylanor to shake with the thunderous might of the largest greenskin Rylanor had ever seen. What Rylanor was filled with was not fear, but it was a related sensation. It was the realization of just why the Emperor, in his infinite wisdom, had deemed it so vitally necessary to exterminate the orks wherever they were, no matter how small their presence. It was the reminder that the ork race never stopped growing with age, and that combat and bloodshed would cause further growth spurts for their twisted forms.

A monster of an ork that could have easily looked down upon Rylanor’s chassis even while he was standing upright was now towering over his broken form, his non-bionic eye glimmering with malicious intent.

“Listen up, kan-boy! Me name’s Ghazghkull Mag Urruk Thrakka, and I got da power of Gork and Mork on my side!” He leaned down and brought his crude firearm inches from Rylanor’s ocular receptors. “Who da zog are you?”

The ancient of rites would not be intimidated by such a display.

**+++ I AM RYLANOR, THE ANCIENT OF RITES.+++**

Ghazghkull turned to the one with the syringes, who simply shrugged his shoulders in response. The warboss shot him a glare that didn’t seem to phase him before turning back to look down on Rylanor.

“Dat’z too many words.”

**+++ BY MY OATHS AS AN ASTAR-+++**

“Ya name’s kan-boy now!”

**+++ ENOUGH!+++**

Rylanor’s roar of defiance caused all activity in the room to come to a halt.

**+++ I AM ONE OF THE EMPEROR’S CHILDREN EMPORER’S CHILDREN AND I WILL NOT BE TREATED LIKE THIS! +++**

“I’z da biggest and da baddest warboss in the galaxy, I’ll treat ya howevuh I want!” Ghazghkull roared in response, unfazed by Rylanor’s righteous indignation. His face contorted into one of confusion upon finishing his sentence.

“Wait a tick.” The warboss’ voice became filled with a restrained anger rather than the usual outright anger that had, until now, defined their conversation. Hearing an ork angry enough to want to hold back his anger was, in a word, disturbing.

“Did you jus say da emperor’s children?”

**+++ YOU KNOW OF THE THIRD LEGION?+++**

Rylanor shuddered (figuratively, of course. His organic form was no longer capable of such actions.) at the realization that his once proud legion had not yet been granted the Emperor’s mercy. This disgust was only intensified as he imagined what horrors they were no doubt spreading throughout the galaxy.

“The wut? Why’z you keep throwin around them big words!?” Ghazghkull no longer pretended to stem the tides of his rage. “Is you workin with that Fulgrim git or what?”

A rage that no doubt made the ork’s own fury seem insignificant flowed through Rylanor as he realized that there was no more doubt as to the status of his disgrace of a primarch. He would not rest until he saw Fulgrim’s mutilated corpse with his own eyes.

**+++ I KNEW HIM ONCE, A LONG TIME AGO. I HAVE NOTHING FOR HIM BUT MY HATE NOW.+++**

“Dat makes two of us.” The gargantuan ork remarked with a huff. “Dat snake boy messed up me Waaagh! good an’ propa, then runs away before I can put his teef on me necklace!”

That Fulgrim would sink to tactics devious enough to earn such a title from an ork was as clear of an indicator as any that he needed to be put down.

“Wait, I’z got an idea, kan-boy!” The twisted enthusiasm in his voice did not bode well for Rylanor. “You’z gonna join me Waaagh! so we can smash that snake-boy together!”

He let out a deep, bellowing laugh. “I like the cut o’ your jib, kan-boy!”

If his body still functioned, he would no doubt be vomiting at the thought.

**+++ THE VERY THOUGHT OF FORMING AN ALLIENCE WITH YOU XENOS MAKES ME SICK! +++**

“Look, you’z really gotta drop them big words. Is you wiff us or not?”

**+++ NEVER! +++**

“Zoggit, I thought for sure you was gonna say yes.” Ghasghkull responded with a sigh. He turned to the orks with power drills standing behind him and made a motion with his power claw. “Scrap ‘im, boys.”

Drills whirring and eyes gleaming, the ork equivalent of engineers approached with ill intent radiating off of them in putrid waves. One in particular rushed past Rylanor, causing him to be snapped out of his rage as he realized a disaster of apocalyptic proportions was brewing right in front of him.

“I’z got dibs on this barrel thingy!” The ork triumphantly proclaimed as it waved the virus bomb around like the idiot child that he was.

**+++ PUT THAT DOWN! +++**

The greenskin hordes could not be allowed such a deadly weapon. The havoc they could wreak with the life eater virus was something the dreadnought dared not imagine.

“Eh?” Ghazghkull chimed in. “Does kan-boy not want us to touch his shiny bits?”

**+++ THAT THING CANNOT BE ALLOWED OUT OF MY SIGHT. +++**

If he told them anything about the nature of the virus bomb, they would surely run off with it and leave him for dead. If he did nothing, they would tear him apart and use the bomb as they saw fit once they inevitably figured out what it was.

Only one option remained with him to prevent disaster.

**+++ ALLOW ME TO KEEP IT SAFE, AND I WILL TRAVEL WITH YOU. +++**

Ghazghkull let out a triumphant laugh in response to this. He glared at the ork that held the virus bomb, and the poor thing dropped the virus bomb. Miraculously, this did not cause the aging thing to detonate.

“Dat’z the spirit, kan-boy!” He proclaimed as he motioned for some of the larger orks to begin lifting up Rylanor’s broken form. “We’z gonna fix you up so you can bash dat snake git good and propa once we finally see ‘im again!”

The warboss just looked at Rylanor like one of his many trophies.

The one with the syringes glared at the virus bomb with unbridled curiosity.

Rylanor shuddered at the thought of one of his comrades seeing him stoop so low.

However, none of this mattered. This would only be a temporary alliance. As soon as he came in contact with his fellow Astartes, he would turn his guns on these foul xenos and hope against all odds his kin would forgive him for accepting the aid of the enemy.

Surely this would be a simple matter.


	2. A New Leg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dreadnought out of time struggles to get his bearings amidst navigating the society of his new companions in arms.

“Alright Kan-boy, we’z gotta do the reflex test to make sure ya new leg’s good an’ propah!”

Rylanor’s fist slammed into the painboy and sent him flying across the lifeless sands of Istvaan III. After having flown about twenty feet, the creature was motionless for a moment that Rylanor couldn’t have savoured enough. However, it soon shot up onto its feet and flashed the dreadnought a thumbs up.

“Atta-boy!” He remarked as he dusted himself off and coughed up blood and broken teeth. “I sayz you passed dat test with flying colors!”

**+++ IF THE RESULTS HAD ACTUALLY BEEN SATISFACTORY, YOU WOULD BE DEAD. +++**

“Yeah, you’z got a point, kan-boy.” The ork agreed as he scratched his chin. “We’z gotta get the mekboyz to beef up ya fist!”

Rylanor lumbered forward, not quite used to the way the new leg felt on his body. While he had no confirmation of this, he had a sneaking suspicion that it was ever so slightly shorter than his pre-existing leg judging from the awkward gait he seemed to have now. Then again, this would be the first time he had walked in an incalculable amount of time, so perhaps he was simply not used to the feeling yet.

**+++ I BELIEVE YOU NEEDED TO PERFORM A TEST ON ME. +++**

“Ah, zoggit, it’ll be fine.” The painboy responded as he stretched his arms non-chalantly. “You’z walkin, aint’ya? Dats good enuff for me.”

**+++ I DISAGREE. THIS LEG FEELS UNNATURAL. +++**

“Ya mean somfin’s wrong wit it?” He asked as he leaned on Rylanor’s new leg, not seeming to care that some of its haphazard spikes were poking into his flesh even as his blood slowly dripped onto the crude iconography. “Sorry Kan-boy, I’m no good with machines. You’z gonna have to get the mek-boys to look at it.”

With these words, the dreadnought stomped away towards to colossal wreck of the rok that had brought the greenskin menace to this world in the first place. He was revolted by the idea of letting those crude facsimiles of engineers touch his artisan chassis, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Wait, Kan-boy!” The painboy shouted. Rylanor turned around just in time to witness his atomantic shields flare up as a large, cylindrical object hit him directly in the viewport.

“Mad Dok Grotsnik said you was gonna want dat thing!”

The virus bomb landed square at his feet, leaving an imprint in the sea of ash below him. That it had not instantly torn the entire world asunder once more was a miracle, though Rylanor could not tell whether or not he was the one to benefit from this stroke of luck. He took the weapon in his fist with a heavy, mechanical sigh.

As Ryalnor made his way toward the affectionately dubbed “da mek shop” that had given him this paltry prosthetic in the first place, he could not help but marvel at how thoroughly the orks seemed to embody the concept of controlled chaos. Endless streams of smaller orks (“gretchins”, as the Mad Dok Grotsnik had affectionately referred to them) worked their way through the makeshift encampments alongside bipedal animals with teeth as long as their legs. Rylanor couldn’t help but wonder why orks always insisted on crashing their ships into the planets they wished to plunder, considering they would have to be rebuilt every time they wanted to go back into space.

The gretchins huffed and puffed in exhaustion as the smaller orks ordered them around, occasionally maiming or even killin them for reasons Rylanor could not even begin to fathom. He watched one ork in particular bellow our orders to a pack of gretchins, his voice carrying his ragged breaths-

The dreadnought stopped in his tracks.

A question had been eating away at the back of his mind, and now was as good of a time to have it answered as any.

He lowered his assault cannon and turned it to the side to block the path of a gretchin, causing it to drop the supplies it was carrying in surprise. As he turned his massive mechanical form to look down upon the creature, he let out an amused huff at its gulp of fear.

“Wh-What’z you want, Kan-boy?” The gretchin asked with all the courage it could muster.

**+++ HOW ARE YOU STILL BREATHING? +++**

The gretchin was silent for a moment, it’s fear having been replaced by confusion. It inhaled as deep as it could and then exhaled slowly, looking at him with a nervous smile all the while.

“See? I know the otha kill kans forget howz to do that-“

**+++ THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT. +++**

“Huh? Why’z you asking about breathing then?”

**+++ THIS WORLD IS A BARREN HELLSCAPE. ITS ATMOSPHERE HAS BEEN REDUCED TO NOTHING BY BIOLOGICAL AND CHEMICAL WEAPONRY. THERE IS NO OXYGEN IN THE AIR ON THIS PLANET. +++**

Rylanor leaned down to further study the creature before him.

**+++ HOWEVER, YOU STILL DRAW BREATH. DOES YOUR SPECIES NOT REQUIRE OXYGEN? +++**

“Uhh…” He stared at the ground to avoid the dreadnought’s gaze and kicked his feet nervously.

“Kan-boy… I gotz no idea what any of dose krumpin words mean.” The gretchin admitted. He flinched back, expecting Rylanor to violently retaliate. Instead, Rylanor decided to phrase his question in a simpler manner.

**+++ HOW ARE YOU BREATHING IF IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO BREATH ON THIS PLANET? +++**

A look of what Rylanor presumed to be terror grew on the greenskin’s face upon hearing these words. The gretchin looked at him as though he had just been told the worst news of his life.

“Wha-What!? Kan-boy, what’z you mean we can’t c-c-c-”

The gretchin was unable to find the words as he began to claw at his throat and choke on nothing. The ork that was previously issuing orders paused what he was doing to watch the bizarre sight of one of his slaves forgetting how to breath.

“Kan-boy, da zog did you just do!?” He asked as the last vestiges of life fled the gretchin.

Rylanor had no idea as to what the answer to this question was, let alone how to articulate it. He just kept alternating between staring at the ork and the dead gretchin, completely dumbfounded. Before he could even begin to form a response, the ork let out a deep, bellowing laughter.

“Cause dat was krumpin funny, dat was!” The ork chuckled out as he placed a friendly slap on Rylanor’s backside. “You’z gotta do that again sometime!”

With these words, the ork scrambled up to the top of his post to resume bossing the smaller ones around. Rylanor took another moment to wish this were all some sort of dream before continuing to lumber his way to da mek shop.

Surely this is what the Emperor meant when he told Magnus that some things were never meant to be understood by the minds of men.

After hours of wading his way through a sea of smoke belching machines and greenskins of every shape and size, he finally arrived at a ramshackle yet truly gargantuan shack with “Da Mek Shop” Written on a sign outside of it, accompanied by several other signs with crude warnings about the consequences of defacing these signs. Fittingly, most of these warnings were themselves covered in graffiti.

He got in line behind an array of vehicles and constructs similar to dreadnoughts (which were apparently the inspiration behind his new nickname) and stood motionless, hoping none of these barbarians would pay attention to him.

The killa-kan in front of him turned its cylindrical body, and what Rylanor assumed to be its viewport lit up after leaning up and down to inspect his chassis. It stopped upon looking at the golden Aquila of the Emperor’s children.

“SHINY”

The word came out briefly yet loudly. Brief enough that Rylanor was initially unsure what he was hearing, but loud enough that an abstract idea of what the kan was saying came across without an issue. As the ancient of rites looked at the various knick-knacks adorning the cylindrical center of this thing’s chassis, he realized this was only going to end one way.

With the grating noise of metal against metal, a buzz-saw arm on the kan came to life. He attempted to bring it down on Rylanor’s “chest”, but the dreadnought was faster. He brought his power fist up to block the saw, but paused upon remembering what he was holding. In this split second of indecisiveness, the kan’s buzzsaw collided with him. His atomantic shields flared to life and caused the ork’s attack to be deflected.

Before Rylanor could end the damned thing’s existence with his assault cannon, an ork with a set of welding tools ran up to the pair. Upon seeing who Rylanor was fighting with, he pulled out what appeared to be a golden ornament depicting the letter “I” with a skull in its center.

“SHINY”

The kan chased after the ork holding the ornament, and another ork with what Rylanor assumed was also welding tools approached him. The greenskin chuckled at the sight of the kan running around as he turned to Rylanor.

“Sorry bout him, kan-boy. Gubbin da shiny boy’s got a bit o’ a one track mind.” He said as gave Rylanor a once-over.

**+++ I NOTICED. +++**

“Anyways, to zog with that git.” He remarked. “You wanna get ya leg looked at?”

**+++ YES, I BELIEVE ONE OF THEM IS SHORTER THAN THE OTHER. +++**

“Righty then, come wit me!” He exclaimed as he brought his welding goggles down onto his face. “We’z gonna get ya all souped up!”

As Rylanor took his position around the scaffolding that the greenskin would be using to operate on him, yet another question began to eat away at him. His rotting stomach turned as he remembered what happened the last time he asked an ork a question, but he had precious little else to go on at the moment.

**+++ YOUR LEADER INFORMED ME YOUR FORCES ENCOUNTERED THE EMPEROR’S CHILDREN, IS THIS TRUE? +++**

“Huh? You mean them purple gitz with the really loud guns?” The mekboy asked as he welded something to something else. Rylanor didn’t want to look at what the ork was doing, lest he see something he didn’t like. There was a word for this irrational aversion to things that he was feeling right now, but he couldn’t remember it.

“Yeah, an’ they krumped us up good! Ghazghkull ain’t gonna admit it, but that Fulgrim git is a clevah one.” He let out a deep sigh as he recounted their defeat. “Dat snakey git had us runnin around in circles.”

There was that word coming alongside the name of his detestable gene-father.

**+++ I WAS NOT AWARE YOUR SPECIES ALSO USED SNAKES AS AN EXAMPLE OF CUNNING AND DECEPTION. +++**

“Eh?” The greenskin muttered out as he back away to look at Rylanor’s viewport. “I mean, yeah, ‘e’s real zoggin cunnin, but dat’s not what I mean.”

**+++ THEN WHY DO YOU REFER TO HIM AS A SNAKE? +++**

The mekboy looked at the ancient of rites as though he were an idiot. The very notion that a greenskin would insult his intelligence made Rylanor’s blood boil.

“Y’know, cuz he’s a snake!”

Silence passed between the pair of them.

“You know what a snake is, Kan-boy? Them things that got a tail instead o’ legs?”

**+++ YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT MY FATHER HAS REPLACED HIS LEGS WITH A SERPENTINE TAIL? +++**

“Fulgrim’s ya dad?” The mekboy asked, though he got back on track to answering Rylanor’s question after feeling the indignation come off the dreadnought in waves. “I, uhh, mean yeah! He’s a snake now!”

Sensing that this had done little to ease the dreadnought’s anger, the ork scampered off after muttering something about needing some more equipment. Just as Rylanor was about to begin to lament his primarch’s fall from grace, the ork came running back with a battery pack with plus and minus symbols painted onto it, though the paint was visibly beginning to flake.

“Righty-o, Kan-boy. Now that ya leg’s fixed, we gotta soup up ya body.” He attached the cables to random protrusions of his new leg and giggled.

“Don’t worry, this aint gonna hurt one bit.”

Rylanor did not need to feel the pain that immediately followed this promise to know that the greenskin had been lying, but he sure felt it anyway.

With this new surge of electricity, the auxiliary systems of his chassis finally came online. Most of the displays showed things he could have already hazarded a guess at. His body was in a sorry state and his leg was not properly synched to the rest of it. However, his heart froze as the chronometer finally displayed itself.

_M41, Year 990_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm worried that this chapter might be kinda rushed, but im pretty proud of it overall. what do you guys think :O


	3. A Big Red Button

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rylanor learns more about the state of affairs in the 41st millennium while also getting a lesson on ork space programs.

Rylanor was not afraid. He was one of the Adeptus Astartes. It was in his genes to be unable to feel fear. Even all those years ago when his conflicts with the Eldar had caused the slinking tendrils of death to wrap themselves around him, there was not an ounce of fear in him. Even as his own brothers turned their bolters on him, he did not succumb to any sort of fear of death. Even when he waited for all that time to kill Fulgrim, he did not once allow the fear of being abandoned on Istvaan III for all of time to overtake him.

A resounding thumping noise echoing from on top of him and ringing throughout his body marked the completion of the mekboy’s work. The ork hopped down from his perch on Rylanor’s shoulder and gave the dreadnought a thumbs up.

What Rylanor was feeling at this moment was not fear. He would not allow himself to succumb to such base, mortal emotions. Anxiety, however, was a fitting word for his current state of mind.

“There ya go, kan-boy!” The mekboy reassured him as he walked off to what appeared to be a looted Leman Russ tank, judging from the winged skulls adorning its sides. “Now you’z not gonna hafta use ya fist to hold on that thing anymore!”

Yes, anxiety.

Anxiety was certainly a fitting term for the sensation Rylanor felt now that the most potent biological weapon in human history was strapped directly the top of his chassis, held in place by nothing other than glue and tape.

His atomantic shields came online and wrapped themselves around the virus bomb. Rylanor couldn’t begin to understand how that worked, but was grateful nonetheless. He lumbered toward the mekboy with the intent of asking more questions, the dreadnought’s awkward gait not having dissipated in the slightest. Rylanor let out a grated sigh as he realized that his new leg went from being slightly shorter than the other one to being slightly longer than the other one.

**+++ GREENSKIN. WHERE IS YOUR LEADER? +++**

The mekboy that had been working on him as well as three others that were busy taping some sort of bolter to the looted Leman Russ looked at him, then began glancing at each other in confusion.

“Uhh, which one o’ us is you talkin to?”

**+++ IT MATTERS NOT. +++**

This prompted another round of nervous glances, none of them willing to invoke the ire of the ancient of rites. He sighed and took hold of one of them in his gargantuan fist and brought his assault cannon to the ork’s head.

**+++ WHERE. IS. YOUR. LEADER. +++**

“G-Ghazghkull should be u-up at da rok!” The poor thing stammered out after it had sufficiently thrashed around in Rylanor’s grasp. “He likes watchin the gretchins take da camps apart!”

Satisfied with this answer, he let the ork go and watched it scramble away to the safety of behind his companions before making his way out of da mek shop. As much as Rylanor loathed this race of bumbling fools, he could not help but watch in awe as they tore their camp apart in their preparations to escape the planet. Squigs and gretchins raced around him and occasionally weaved under his gargatntuan feet in their efforts to complete their preparations as fast as possible. Structures of every shape and purpose were mercilessly and violently torn to pieces just as quickly as they were no doubt erected.

As he finally reached the base of the rok that brought the ork hordes to this world, he turned back to look at the view of the landscape that the joke of a spaceship presided over. Of course, he was not interested in the many greenskins performing their menial tasks. What captivated Rylanor was the sensation that he was now leaving this planet that he had now spent more of his life on than off.

He gazed at this endless sea of ash and death before him with a level of melancholy that caught him off guard. Leaving this world alive was not a possibility he had entertained throughout his wait for Fulgrim, not even once. Yet now, he would most likely never see this world again. Istvaan III had grown to hold a sentimental value to him, though it achieved this in a rather twisted sense. Memories stirred in his ancient mind as he remembered the likes of Garviel Loken and Saul Tarvits. Such heroic warriors were now naught but dust, even their bones having been reduced to nothing by the endless march of _ten millennia_ of time.

Rylanor could still hardly believe that so much time had passed without him noticing. The other part of this that he could hardly believe was that in all this time, his traitorous brethren had not yet been scoured from the galaxy. Perhaps his despicable father was correct in his boasts that his legion was the most skilled in the imperium. All these questions and more raced through his mind, and he knew at least one of these orks was capable of answering some of them.

A metallic clanging noise echoed throughout the air as Rylanor felt something impact with his backside. He turned around and saw the Mad Dok Grotsnik with a squig in his free hand while another one scampered away from the dreadnought.

“Lookie that, Kan-boy’s awake!” He remarked with a chuckle. “Sorry for da shock, I do dat when the kans stop movin, don’t want the gretchins tryna scrap ya!”

**+++ WAS IT NECESSARY TO USE THOSE “SQUIG” CREATURES? +++**

“Well, yeah!” He answered as he scratched his head. “I’z gotta get ya ta wake up!”

**+++ BUT WHY… NEVERMIND. +++**

Grotsnik laughed at this response. “Dat’z the spirit! You’z gonna fit right in, Kan-boy!”

**+++ I HOPE THAT YOU ARE WRONG. +++**

“Then why’z you…” It was the painboy’s turn to act confused by the other’s words. “Eh, zog it. What’z ya need, kan-boy?”

**+++ I WISH TO SPEAK TO YOUR LEADER. THIS … GAZ-GHOUL. +++**

“E’z at the top o’ da rok right now, watchin the mek-boyz work on da button.” Grotsnik answered without missing a beat. Before Rylanor had time to ask about this button, Grotsnik interjected again. “Also, iz pronounced Ghaz-“

**+++ I CARE NOT FOR THE DETAILS OF YOUR FOUL LANGUAGE, XENOS SCUM. +++**

“If you say so, kan-boy.” Grotsnik was audibly upset but did little to show it. It seemed as though, unlike the rest of his species, getting the painboy’s anger to surface would be an arduous task indeed. “But Ghazghkull ain’t gonna be so nice.”

He made his way to some sort of elevator and motioned for the dreadnought to join him.

“Get ovah ‘ere, I’ll show ya where da boss is!”

Rylanor stomped his way toward the elevator and cursed internally as he realized that Grotsnik intended to accompany him for the ride up. The panel on the inside of the elevator only had two buttons on it; one with an upward arrow painted onto it, and another with a downward arrow painted on it. Grotsnik pressed the button leading up and after the machine rumbled in response, the pair began their ascent up the rok.

Rylanor had hoped that their ascent up the rok would be quiet but was unsuprised when the painboy spoke up.

“So whatz dat shiny but on ya ‘ead?” He asked as he pointed at the virus bomb with a malicious sort of curiosity in his eyes. This creature was an odd one, even by the standard of his kin. Rylanor could not stiomach the thought of what would happen should it learn the true nature of the dreadnought’s new accessory.

**+++ WHAT IT IS, IS NONE OF YOUR CONCERN +++**

“Aw, c’mon kan-boy!” He leaned up against Rylanor’s body and let out a sigh was dripping with feigned innocence. “Can ya not even gimme a hint?”

Rylanor twisted his torso to take the ork into his fist.

**+++ BEGGING IS NOT SOMETHING I HAVE SEEN YOUR KIND ENGAGE IN. NOW I CAN SEE WHY. +++**

He brought the ork closer to his viewport to emphasis his next words.

**+++ YOU SHALL ONLY BE ABLE TO TAKE IT FROM MY COLD, DEAD HANDS. +++**

**“** K-Kanboy, this ‘and’s cold as mork’s guts!” He shrieked as he looked to Rylanor with unspoken pleas for mercy. Rylanor was caught of guard by the fear in Grotsnik suddenly being replaced with a childlike smugness.

“Dis mean I can ‘ave it?”

He gave the painboy a squeeze before letting him out of his grasp. Rylanor may have been able to afford to kill most of the other orks here with impunity, but Ghazghkull seemed to like this one for some reason. A dinging noise that sounded like some sort of vox-hailer playing a doorbell noise amplified to ear-splitting volumes rang through the elevator, indicating that they had reached their destination.

The doors opened and Rylanor tried to take in as much of the sight before him as he could before being accosted by the various menials performing their duties on what appeared to be the orkish equivalent of the bridge of the ship. Its walls were adorned with all manner of blinking lights and knobs, the purpose of which Rylanor could only guess at. Some of them even appeared to be taped onto the walls, or even simply painted on. Regardless, the orks were rapt in attention by the devices. At the center of the room sat a wooden wheel akin to the ones used to steer sea fairing vessels on ancient terra. A few meters in front of it was a large red button, easily the size of one of those gretchins that seemed to spread over the encampments like a plague.

Many of the orks on the bridge stopped to gawk at Rylanor, but he paid them no heed as he lumbered forward in search of the warboss. The floor of the bridge trembled, and all activity came screeching to a halt as the dreadnought realized that Ghazghkull would be coming to him.

“Therez you are, kan-boy!” The ork warboss shouted with a hearty guffaw, approaching Rylanor as though the two of them were good friends. “’ow’z dat new leg treatin’ ya?”

**+++ I HATE THIS THING AND I HATE YOU. +++**

This response earned another fit of earth-shattering laughter from Ghazghkull.

“I knew Grotsnik waz gonna soup ya up good!” He made his way to the center of the bridge. “Ya ready to get da gork off dis dustbowl? We’z still gotta krump dat Fulgrim git!”

Rylanor looked out of the window of the bridge to gaze at this lifeless world one last time before turning back to the ork.

 **+++ MORE THAN ANYTHING**. **+++**

“I like ya spirit, kan-boy!” With these words, he made a turning motion with his power claw at one of th orks. The mekboy gulped in fear and pressed his finger against a painted-on button on the wall of the bridge. _Somehow_ , this resulted in what appeared to be a crude megaphone being lowered from the ceiling. Rylanor refused to allow himself to focus on the logistics of this and instead focused on the words the warboss spoke.

“Alright, boyz! We’z getting us da gork off dis rok! Get all ya dakka now, cuz we ain’t commin back!”

With this brief announcement, the megaphone retracted into the ceiling, and the traffic below them increased drastically. With this freetime they gained as they waited for the rest of the orks to board the rok, Rylanor figured this would be a good time to have his questions answered. He walked up to the warboss as he approached the big button at the center of the room.

**+++ HAVE YOU ENCOUNTERED ANY ASTARTES OTHER THAN THE EMPEROR’S CHILDREN? +++**

“Any what now?” Ghazghkull asked as if the two of them were speaking different languages. He then wanted to ask the warboss if they were indeed speaking two different languages given the species barrier between them, but the logistics of that thought made his head hurt. Instead, he opted to simplify his question.

**+++ HAVE YOU ENCOUNTERED SPACE MARINES OTHER THAN THE EMPEROR’S CHILDREN? +++**

The low gothic word for the astartes had never quite sounded right to Rylanor, but the dreadnought had long since given up on communicating with orks being enjoyable.

“Oh yeah, loadz of ‘em!” Ghazghkull responded. “And I krumped ‘em all, just like ‘ow I’m gonna krump dat emprah git that they keep yammerin’ on about!”

The imperium still existed. The emperor still lived.

Relief washed over Rylanor’s mind as a suspicion that he didn’t even know he had was eliminated.

The ship began to shake, and the dreadnought swore that the damned thing was about to split open as it finally achieved liftoff. Rylanor didn’t know whether or not all of the orks on the planet had been able to get inside on time, but he didn’t really care either.

Realizing he had learned what was most likely the extent of the ork’s knowledge of the imperium of man, he instead decided to indulge his curiosity (against his better judgement).

**+++ WHAT IS THAT BUTTON AT THE CENTER OF THE ROOM? +++**

“Oh, dat thing?” Ghazghkull asked as he motioned toward the button with his power claw. “Dat’z da big red button! It takes to da all da good fights!”

**+++ SO THAT IS HOW YOU TRAVERSE THE WARP? HOW DO YOU DETERMINE WHAT PLANET YOU WISH TO TRAVEL TO? +++**

He looked at Rylanor with visible confusion.

“What’z ya mean? I just said we go to da best fights!”

**+++ THEN HOW- +++**

“Don’t question da big red button, kan-boy!” The warboss’s booming voice caused everyone on the bridge to freeze in place. “It takes us da fights cuz dat’z what it does!”

He slammed his gun arm onto the button and the ship once more rocked as thought it was about to split apart as the immaterial realm enveloped it. The window at the front of the ship went from showing the stars to a kaleidoscope of colors and sights that should not, could not, and did not exist.

At this point, Rylanor would have been grateful if the ship had actually fallen apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly the hardest part of writing this is spellchecking it cause I have no idea if these red squiggly lines are actually typos or if thats just how the orks talk  
> anyways I feel a lot better about this chapter than the previous one, but what do yall think?


	4. A Microwave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rylanor and Ghazghkull learn about the importance of Gellar Feilds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took so long I swear I love this fic i just wanted to work on my danganronpa stuff as well as hammer out the details of the overarching plot of this one

Vistario had never liked the sensation of approaching his primarch, now that he had become far more than _just_ his primarch. Vistario and his comrades were sorcerers, and adept ones at that. They held mastery over the flow of the immaterium in a way that he could have only dreamed of back when he and his brothers were still held in the shackles of the imperium.

None of this changed the fact that beholding Magnus now came with the consequence of looking upon the very embodiment of the will of the architect of fate. He held no form, or at least not one that mattered. The crimson king had become a shapeless being of pure warp energy, taking on whatever form the viewer believed he would most likely hold.

“And just why in the nine damnations would he have called for us?” Neither Vistario nor Akhtar needed their ethereal senses to sense Murshid’s anxiety. The raptorae manifested his worries clearly enough with the way he fiddled with the bolt pistol on his hip. “That brazen fool never sends out invitations for anything good.”

“Curb your tongue, Murshid. This is our father you speak of.” Vistario urged him. Normally, such communications would have been made telepathically. However, the very air of Sortiarius was thick with ethereal currents, thus rendering the spoken and the unspoken word as one and the same.

“He has a point.” Akhtar interjected, his aura unreadable even now, though his words communicated his feelings quite clearly. “This is not the same being we knew on Prospero. The warp has changed him. It has changed all of us.”

“Enough, both of you!” He shouted as he let out a pulse of his indignation to show that he would tolerate no further insubordination. “Magnus the Red is our gene-father! We have served him for ten thousand years! This suspicion is entirely unwarranted.”

The ten hundred thousand seals that protected his primarch inside his chambers undid themselves in and instant and an eternity upon sensing the presence of the dark sorcerers. As the doors opened with the screeching noise of metal scraping against metal (as well as the literal shrieking of the souls of the damned) Vistario steeled himself for whatever it is his primarch could have summoned him for.

He stepped into the chamber and paid no heed to the endless whispers of the numberless daemons that had made this place into their home. They promised him everything and nothing, great wisdom and power as well as the release that was oblivion. Vistario chuckled at the sight of Murshid rapidly shaking his leg in attempt to get rid of some warp-creature clinging to it. Akhtar drove his staff into the thing and Murshid let out some sort of grunt of gratitude before quickening his pace.

At last, the trio reached the chamber of Magnus the Red. He basked in the impossible splendor that was the daemonic form of his genefather for a moment before finally answering his call. It was hard not to after all. Magnus had, through circumstances outside of his control and mostly without his own consent, become the epitome of everything that Vistario aspired to be. The embodiment of change that was Magnus held no form other than the one he wished for at the moment. Today, the primarch seemed none too keen on pleasantries, instead opting to present himself purely as the spherical mass of warp energy that he truly was.

“My lord-“

With a wave of Magnus’ previously non-existent hand, the sorcerers were reduced to mindless chaos spawn and cast into the depths of the warp. As the creatures that swarmed below the deamon primarch’s form tore each other apart trying to feast on Vistario’s soul, he returned to gazing into the infinite web of fate. A psychic scream of titanic proportions echoed throughout Sortiarius as the crimson king realized how drastically the course of history had been altered by that gods-damned greenskin.

The survival of Vistario and his companions had been easy enough to rectify. The rest of this, however, would be a logistical nightmare to fix. Rylanor could not be allowed back into the material realm, no matter the cost.

Magnus dipped his mind into the currents of the warp to issue yet another summons, this time legitimate.

* * *

The creature before Rylanor was utterly impossible in its proportions. It was a writhing mass of limbs for every creature that did and did not exist. It had no center connecting its countless misshapen body parts; instead, the entire abomination seemed to be one endless ouroboros of tentacles and teeth and feet. Every square inch of its surface was constantly sprouting eyeballs that simultaneously looked all over the room and stared directly into Rylanor’s soul before boiling away into nothing as fast as it appeared.

Most bizarrely of all, he could somehow smell the surprisingly appetizing aroma the creature emanated as the greenskins roasted it over an open flame. Rylanor was fairly certain his olfactory organs were no longer supposed to be working, but few things made sense on ships without Gellar Fields.

**+++ AND THIS SORT OF THING IS HAPPENING ON EVERY SHIP IN THIS FLEET? +++**

“Sure is!” Ghazghkull responded as he took a heap of still-writhing flesh into his power claw with a noise that would surely have made Rylanor vomit, were he still capable of such things.

“Want some, kanboy?”

**+++ IF YOU PUT THAT THING NEAR- +++**

A tentacle with fingers in the place of suction cups came flying at Rylanor and his atomantic shields came alive before it could actually touch him. The unnatural mass of impossible flesh let out some sort of gurgling noise from a mouth that did not previously exist as its skin boiled upon touching his chassis’ defenses. The dreadnought took a moment to examine the creature at his feet before bringing his foot down upon it with a wet slapping noise.

**+++ I BELIEVE THAT IT IS UNDERCOOKED. +++**

“Nah, iz s’posed to do that.” The warboss reassured him, though being reassured by an ork was the last thing that the venerable dreadnought needed. “Da weird gitz that try to take me ships while we’z in da warp always taste da best when ya don’t cook ‘em all da way through.”

**+++ WHY DO YOU ALLOW THEM TO BOARD THE SHIP IN THE FIRST PLACE? +++**

“Da zog is ya talking ‘bout, kanboy? These gitz just show up.” Ghazghkull spat out in between mouthfuls of nightmare flesh. The way the creature’s remnants that Ghazghkull spat out with every word would dissolve in a flash of colors that previously only existed in Rylanor’s imagination was mesmerizing, but the greenskins were apparently accustomed to this. They fought one another for the pieces of the invading creatures as though they were prized cuts of meat.

Considering the species in question, it was entirely possible that this was the case.

**+++ YOU HAVE LOST SEVERAL GOOD WARRIO- +++**

Rylanor paused to correct himself. That was an embarrassing slip he would never recover from.

**+++ YOU HAVE LOST SEVERAL WARRIORS IN THE DEFENCE OF YOUR SHIPS. THE ONES YOU STOLE FROM MY PEOPLE SURELY STILL HAVE FUNCTIONAL GELLAR FIELDS, SO WHY NOT USE THEM? +++**

He admired the ork warriors from a scientific perspective and nothing else. They were clearly biologically and socially adapted to warfare in a way that even rivaled astartes, but that did not make them any less despicable. They were aliens and nothing else.

Other than his new brothers in arms.

And keepers, now that he was regularly visiting the mekboys for maintenance.

“Wha’z a Gellar field?” One of the nearby mekboys asked as he adjusted some knobs in time to a blinking light in front of him on the bridge of the ship.

“Don’ listen to ‘im, glue-chugga.” Ghazghkull reassured his fellow greenskin with a dismissive wave of his power claw. Each exaggerated motion with the artificial limb caused whatever unnatural liquid contained in the remains of the spawn to spill everywhere. “He’z just ramblin’ ‘bout some ‘umie nonsense.”

The warboss turned back to Rylanor.

“And ‘sides, if dat gella thing is gonna keep those weird gitz off me ship, then I don’t zoggin want it. Dem weird fings killin me boyz are just doin’ me a favor by gettin’ rid of all da runts in me Waaagh!” He finally shoved the last of the warp-spawned creature into his mouth, even as it grew talons to try and claw its way to freedom. “I told ya when we first got on da rok; we’z lookin for the best of fights, right? Well they sure as gork’z gunz is gonna put up a fight!”

**+++ AND I TOLD YOU WHEN WE FIRST MET ON THAT DAMNABLE ROCK THAT I HAVE ONLY ALLIED MYSELF WITH YOU TO FIND FULGRIM. +++**

Rylanor stepped closer to the ork to emphasize his next words, though their effectiveness was diminished by Rylanor being noticeably shorter than Ghazghkull.

**+++ I AM HERE FOR ONE FIGHT AND ONE FIGHT ONLY. +++**

“Yeah yeah, we’z gonna find dat snake boy eventually. Dat stuff takes time, ya know!” Ghazghkull slammed his gun arm against Rylanor’s back in what appeared to be a friendly gesture of encouragement. “But don’t ya worry ‘bout a thing, kanboy! We’z got our smartiest boyz on da job!”

He pointed at the bridge of the ship with his power claw. A pair of nobs with shattered glasses were reading a stream of letters and numbers as they were printed out by some sort of device embedded into the wall. It reminded Rylanor of the way servitors on Mechanicum ships would transcribe information from the holy binaric coding for their unaugmented passengers. They watched the machine with an attention span wholly uncharacteristic of their kind as it spewed out paper with crudely written red writing on it. The machine would occasionally pause and they would do some writing of their own; presumably a condensed version of the information that the machine was attempting to convey.

This piqued the curiosity of the ancient of rites in a way that nothing else the greenskins had invented could ever hope to. If they had invented something that could somehow track the presence of his genefather through the warp, then perhaps some of these things were worth keeping around after all. He looked at the paper coming out of the machine and would not allow himself to be disheartened by fact that the writing on it was a completely completely nonsensical sequence of numbers and letters. After all, to the untrained eye, binary was the exact same thing. Perhaps these creatures had a coding language of their own.

He used his massive fist to snatch the paper the nobs were writing on out of their hands, earning no small amount of disparaging comments. He paid them no heed as he finally viewed what he hoped would be his first hint at the location of Fulgrim.

A game of tic-tac-toe that the nobs were playing.

He drove his fist into the first nob and simultaneously unloaded his assault cannon into the second one. His hopes had never been so thoroughly dashed since the treachery of Horus was first unveiled. He stormed out of the bridge without another word, making a point of stomping on a gretchin on his way out.

* * *

Nail-bitah let out an annoyed huff as he finally managed to sneak his way into the break room. Gubbin da shiny boy had gotten out again and was determined to find kanboy. Ever since that weird thing had first been let into the waaagh! Gubbin had been acting weird, always insisting that he needed to find Rylanor to get that shiny thing on his chest. Nail-bitah had told Rylanor he should probably just get rid of the damn thing since it was going to be trouble, but this suggestion had earned the mek-boy a swift punch to the jaw.

Not that any of that mattered right now. Nail-bitah was on his break, and he and the rest of the union worked damn hard to ensure they had the time, and the staff were allowed such things. He thanked Gork and Mork that going on strike had worked as he reached into the fridge to grab some leftover bits of Chaos spawn that he was pretty sure belonged to one of the nobs.

He giggled and hastily shoved the writhing flesh into the microwave as he imagined Grugnak Tankstompa throwing another hissy-fit upon realizing someone had stolen his food again. Nail-Bitah’s amusement quickly turned to confusion as he realized that he couldn’t remember which button was to be used for warp creatures. Filled with uncertainty, he closed his eyes and pressed a random button.

A blast of hot air hit him unexpectedly, causing him to fly across the room.

He must have pressed the wrong button.

He shook off the rubble and rubbed his eyes. He rubbed his eyes again after seeing the sight before him.

In the air in front of him there was a big hole spewing colors, noises and smells that only existed on the ship while it was moving between stars in the warp. He pulled out his knife and eagerly awaited the fresh chaos spawn and the meat it would provide.

What came out of the portal instead was a trio of space marines, their armor black as night. At the head of the trio was a space marine with a big stick like the ones the weirdboys use to keep their heads from exploding and a fancy set of gold and black stripes on his head.

“It pains me to act at the behest of Magnus just as much as it does you, but the warmaster has decreed it.” The leader explained to the marine on his right, who seemed preoccupied fiddling with the swords on his waist.

The leader then turned to Nail-Bitah.

“The warmaster’s decrees are not to be trifled with.”

Every instinct in Nail-bitah screamed at him to run and he gladly obeyed, but an immaterial force stopped him before he could reach the door.

“Oh, I don’t think so, wretch!”

In an instant, the mekboy was forcefully turned around to face the trio and he watched in horror as more and more soldiers clad in all black stomped out of the portal. The one with bare arms and chains all over him stepped forward to address his leader.

“Just kill it and be done with it! If we slaughter our way through them, we’ll find him eventually!”

“You don’t know that.” The leader scolded him, then turned back to Nail-Bitah and laughed as he whimpered in fear.

“You are going to tell me where Ryalnor is or I will feed your soul to the creatures of the warp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thats right bitches this fic has a plot with a story and shit. I hope its not deviating too far from the dynamic of Ghazghkull and Rylanor but I had too many ideas to not use them


	5. A Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rylanor debates with orks and recieves a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter has basically nothing in the way of actual advances to the plot, I originally wrote the first conversation in it as part of the last chapter but it ended up being a lot longer than I had planned so I decided to give it its own chapter. The big fight yall are waiting for is gonna come i promise

Rylanor would certainly have preferred to spend this time alone. The jabbering and chattering of the orks had become white noise to him, and he was eager to cut the noise out. The mek shop was surprisingly qualified for this need as long as there were no greenskins in the room at the moment.

Unfortunately, the dreadnought walked into the mek shop to discover it was very much occupied. A pair of mek boys were slamming their wrenches against that same killa kan that tried to fight Rylanor for the aquila emblazoned upon his chest. For a moment, the slit on the center of its chassis lit up in recognition of the ancient of rites. This potential conflict was brought to a halt by one of the mekboys throwing a tarp over the kan and whispering something to it about shiny objects yet to come. The kan continued to stir for a moment, but eventually went still as it muttered the word ‘shiny’ over and over again.

“Ey, It’z da kan-boy!” The other mekboy shouted as he raised a wooden tankard filled will froth at the sight of Rylanor. A little bit of the greenskin’s beverage spilled onto the floor with every one of Rylanor’s earth-shaking steps. If the mekboy was annoyed by this, he knew better than to make a complaint about it.

“Ya need somefin?” He asked after pouring the remains of his drink into his mouth and then turning to the floor to look at the stains from his drink in despair.

**+++ ARE YOU TWO…+++**

Rylanor looked to the tarp covering Gubbin da Shiny Boy.

**+++… THREE… NOT GOING TO PARTICIPATE IN THE BLOODSPORTS AGAINST THE WARP CREATURES THAT HAVE BEEN CAPTURED? +++**

“Bloodsports?” The mekboy next to Gubbin repeated as he scratched his head. “Ya mean watchin’ the nobs fightin’ tentacle monsters?”

“Yeah, dat’z not really our fing.” The other mekboy finished his though, tossing his tankard aside as he got and stretched his arms. “We’z just da mekboys, ya know? We’d get chopped ta bitz in dere.”

**+++ I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT YOUR KIND SOUGHT COMBAT ABOVE ALL ELSE. +++**

The two greenskins stared at each other for a moment before the one next to Gubbin responded.

“Well, yeah. But we’z not always, krumpin, ya know?” He stepped down from the stepladder that allowed him to interact with the killa kan. “Dat arena stuff is just for da sluggas. We’z do enuff krumpin t’ get by, but we can’t just keep krumpin. Someboy’z gotta fix up da pipes.”

**+++ WHAT DO YOU MEAN. “ENOUGH TO GET BY”? +++**

“Kanboy, we’z orks.” The other one said in a tone that was far too condescending for the dreadnought’s liking. “If we stop krumpin’, we stop movin’.”

**+++ YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT YOUR BODIES WILL STOP FUNCTIONING WITHOUT ENGAGING IN VIOLENCE? +++**

“Yeah, kanboy, dat’z what I zoggin said. Ain’t you ‘umies the same way?” He picked his tankard up off of the floor and put it below the same dispensary that the oil for Rylanor’s joints was kept and poured himself another round.

**+++ WE ARE MOST CERTAINLY NOT. +++**

The pair of orks flinched back slightly at how assertive the dreadnought’s tone had become.

**+++ HOW IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR DID YOU GET THAT IMPRESSION? +++**

“Well…” The ork with the tankard rubbed his chin as he contemplated his next words. “Cuz you ‘umies is always fightin’!”

Rylanor paused at these words. Indignation caused the barrels on his assault cannon to begin to rotate, but it only ended up reminding him that the reason he came here was to get more ammo for it.

“Oh, ya need more dakka, kanboy?” The one with the tankard remarked as he stared at Rylanor’s assault cannon unflinchingly. “Ya coulda just said that, y’know!”

He reached into an open barrel filled with all manner of weapons from seemingly every army in the galaxy that Rylanor knew and even a few he didn’t recognize (particularly one that seemed to writhe in response to greenskin’s rummaging). His eyes lit up as his hand rubbed against something at the bottom of the barrel and he pulled out a bandana of bolts. The mekboy held them in front of Rylanor and ran up to him after the dreadnought tilted his visor in approval.

“Right, where wuz we?” The greenskin asked as he pulled open the side of his assault cannon. Rylanor clenched his metal fist as he remembered the conversation.

**+++ YOU WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF COMPARING THE IMPERIUM OF MAN’S CRUSADES TO YOUR BARBARIC WARS. +++**

“Wha’z a ‘crew-said’?” The mek-boy asked.

**+++ IT IS A RIGHTEOUS UNDER- +++**

“Iz just a ‘umie word for a waaagh!” The other mekboy interjected as he poured himself a mug of the lubricant/beverage. “You know how ‘umies are, dey gotta make big words for everything.”

**+++ THEY ARE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT AFFAIRS! +++**

This time, neither of the orks seemed all that phased by the ancient of rite’s indignation.

**+++ THE CRUSADES OF THE IMPERIUM ARE NOT YOUR MINDLESS SLAUGHTERS; THEY ARE THE RESULT OF HUMANITY’S FINEST WARRIORS UNDERTAKING CAMPAIGNS OF EXTERMINATION TO SPREAD THE GLORY OF THE EMPEROR OF MANKIND AND HUMANITY. +++**

Neither of them responded, though the mekboy that wasn’t working on him did begin to stare at the floor while rubbing his chin. Considering how orks typically live their lives, it was entirely possible that this was the hardest he had ever needed to think about something. Eventually his eyes lit up and he held up one finger in his state of realization.

“Oh, I get it!” He exclaimed. “Dat emprah git iz da ‘umie warboss, right? So you’z all in his waaagh! cause you wanna prove ‘e’s da biggest and da strongest!”

“Zog me, dat makes a lot more sense!” The other mekboy added as he slammed something shut on Rylanor’s cannon. “You all iz on a waaagh! just like us!”

Rylanor went quiet, knowing that nothing he could say would bring a halt to these accusations. These creatures were single-minded by nature. They knew nothing of the glory of conquest in the name of such a majestic being as the Emperor, only slaughter in the name of whatever belching beast called themselves ‘boss’ at the moment.

Yet surely even the orks should be capable of realizing when they were looking at something greater than what their ramshackle ‘societies’ could ever achieve, even if there were a handful of surface-level similarities. The Emperor may be a military leader just like any ork, but that did not mean that he was the same as them. Human society may have come to revolve around war, but that did not mean that humans were somehow biologically wired to commit the heinous acts of bloodshed. The dreadnought and his astartes brethren may have been created for the sole purpose of war, but that did not mean that they were the same as the creatures that had been made for the sole purpose of war whom he now travelled with.

A grating sound rang through the entire ship as alarms meant to warn of intruders went off all around the ancient of rites. He knew that this was specifically meant to warn of a hostile boarding action as the blaring klaxons were conjoined with a pre-recorded yet still undeniably orkish voice saying the word ‘intrudah’ over and over again.

Rylanor was, of course, filled with uncertainty. This could not be good no matter how he looked at it. When they had initially entered the immaterial realm, the hordes of unnatural monstrosities that had infested the ship had triggered no such emergency alarms. Those beasts that had laid so many imperial ships low without effort were no threat to the greenskins. Less than a threat, in fact. They had been turned into food and captured for bloodsports. This could only mean that whatever had just boarded the ship was not a force to be trifled with.

However, this uncertainty was not the foremost emotion that Rylanor had at the moment. In truth, he was simply relieved that his thoughts about his conversations with the Mekboys had been cut off before they could reach some rather unsavory conclusions.

“Aw, zog me; dat can’t be good.” One of the mekboys said as he stepped away from Rylanor’s autocannon.

**+++ WHAT DOES THAT ALARM MEAN? +++**

The dreadnought couldn’t help but be curious about who would care enough about a band of orks (a particularly large one, but still) to attempt boarding actions on their ship in the middle of a jump through the warp.

“You got ears, don’tya, kanboy?” The other one asked as he scrambled towards a door on the far end of the room with the word ‘secyuritty’ painted onto it. “Some scary gitz is tryna take da ship!”

**+++ I HAD ASSUMED AS MUCH. WHO COULD POSSIBLY BE INTERESTED IN THIS PATHETIC ROCK? +++**

“Watch ya mouth, kanboy! We worked zoggin ‘ard on dis ship!” The first one shouted as he followed his kin into the room. “Now get ovah ‘ere; les find out who’s tryna take our flashy bitz.”

He stomped his way into the security room and saw a row of monitors, all seemingly sourced from different ships if their sizes and difference in resolution was any indicator of such a thing. Most of the monitors displayed events that Rylanor could have already guessed were happening; panic at the sound of the alarms and the general sort of controlled chaos that the greenskins were best known for. The ensuing lack of structure ahd allowed the warp creatures not yet harvested for their flesh to run rampant, further adding to the decline of order. One camera showed Ghazghkull himself rallying the nearby orks by killing one of his men who presumably had tried to use this as an opportunity to claim the title of warboss. Ghazghkull’s attention, however, was soon taken by something out of the view of the camera, though Rylanor was not particularly interested in what it was the warboss was seeing.

It was absolutely despicable that these creatures would pick such a life-threatening scenario to attempt to usurp power from their superiors.

Rylanor knew such things from experience, after all.

“Lookie there!” One of the mekboys shouted as he pointed to a surprisingly high resolution monitor on the far end of the wall. “In da breakroom!”

**+++ THERE ARE BREAKROOMS ON THIS SHIP? +++**

“Yeah, we’ve ‘ad ‘em for a few years now.” The other one explained as he wheeled the chair he was on towards the monitor that his compatriot was pointing to. “Thanks to da union, we’ve got ‘em all ovah da ship.”

**+++ WH… WHAT IS A UNION? +++**

They both looked at him with undisguised contempt.

“An’ you’z callin us da savages…” The first one mumbled out as he turned back to the monitors. His tone changed in an instant after seeing who it was that had triggered the alarms.

“Oh bugga me, da’z da spiky boyz!”

**+++ WHO? +++**

The mekboy tore the monitor off the wall, somehow not causing it to lose any of its functions and showed it to Rylanor. His fist clenched and his systems had to work overtime to process the new wave of anger that overcame him.

The intruders were a motley band of marauders tainted by the warp into monsters straight out of the deepest nightmares of the average mortal. Their armor was black as night with gold trims and adorned with skulls of those who had fallen to their bolters and blades. Some of them had seemingly melded into their armor, with portrusions of flesh and bone indistinguishable from the ceramite that composited their armor. They spilled out of the hole in reality in an endless stream of gibbering madmen, raving about blood and skulls and twisted beings who promised them power in exchange for their heinous acts.

It broke Rylanor, really, truly broke him, to know that these were the very same adeptus astartes that he had served alongside and called brothers some ten thousand years ago. The make of their weapons and armor, despite having been marred by time and whatever foul acts they had performed in service of their new masters, was undeniably imperial.

While the rest of the traitors poured out from the room and into the ship at large, three of them were simply standing at the center of the room, discussing something that could not be overheard amongst the din of war that now plagued the rok. The trio eventually reached some sort of consensus and two of them joined their vile ilk in the slaughter. The third one, however, continued to stand in place as the staff in his hand began to glow a bright blue as some sort of unnatural energy coursed through it.

Rylanor did not hear what happened next; he simply understood it.

He was not a stranger to the powers of the warp that psykers possessed, which this traitor marine no doubt wielded deftly. During his campaigns against the Eldar and the many other xenos scum which were more attuned to the currents of the warp than the average human, there had been many instances which his opponents had used these powers to try and trick him by manipulating his senses.

What this marine was doing seemed to the inverse of such a trick. It felt more like simple telepathy than some attempt at murder. However, even the dreadnought, for his complete lack of psychic abilities, could tell this marine was deliberately not trying to kill him at the moment.

_“Rylanor, Ancient of Rites.”_

It felt strange to be referred to with his real name for the first time in ten thousand years.

_“Hear my voice and cower in fear, for I am Iskandar Khayon, breaker of kings. I have been sent here by the Warmaster to claim your soul.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i tried changing up how I represent the speech patterns of orks in my writing but I'm worried I may have overdone it. is it too hard to read?

**Author's Note:**

> If I ever take too long go bully me on twitter @butternubs3


End file.
